DEVIL

2.1 | Heavenly

Sometimes, we forget to take notice of the little things in life; the pitter patter of your own footsteps padding against the floor of your childhood home; your father's laughter and your mother's scolding, as you and your siblings argue over taking a family photograph; the feeling of a baby wrapping their entire, small hand around one of your fingers; a butterfly's wings brushing against your skin in the spring.

On other days, we're far more detail-oriented; if you wake early enough, you can catch glimpses of morning dew on blades of grass, when the sunlight hits it just right; if you've ever slept beside someone, you might notice their soft breath blowing strands of their hair away from their face; it's in our human nature, to be detail-oriented, while also ignoring things that are right under our noses.

That was especially the case for Poetry Rain Collins; it always had been, and it always would be. Whether or not she was genuinely blind to the blatant signs, or if she'd simply chosen to ignore them, remained a mystery – one that might never be solved.

Poetry awoke to several missed calls and texts from her worried family members, and her best friend, Alyssa Burbank. She knew better than to respond, saying she'd fled the Outer Banks, with a boy that was always seen as anything except good; at least, to those he considered to be anything other than his peers. By the time her eyes fluttered open, she realized she didn't recognize her surroundings; moreover, she realized she'd been left alone.

Her viridian eyes traveled around the room she'd been left in; the walls were white paneling, and the floors were a sand-colored wood. It seemed to be a coastal cottage. "Good, you're awake," Rafe noted as he walked into the bedroom, finding a confused looking Poetry, still sitting in bed. "Where are we?" she bemused, rubbing the tiredness out of her eyes. "Topsail Beach," Rafe answered, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed.

"You drove for over three hours?"

"Actually I drove over four hours – I took the longer route."

"I don't even remember getting here," Poetry laughed it off, finally getting out of bed. "That's because you were still asleep; I just carried you in when we got here."

"How long are we gonna be here?" Rafe only shrugged as he folded and unfolded the ends of his tee-shirt sleeve. "I'm not too sure, yet." The two of them went to eat breakfast, until they realized there was no food in the cottage. They loaded themselves back into Rafe's car, driving until they found a quaint diner; a "hole in the wall," some might say.

A girl stood behind the counter, looking bored out of her mind. "Just sit anywhere," she told them, not glancing up from the strand of hair she'd been twirling. "Have you heard anything from your family?" Poetry asked quietly as they sat at a booth near the back. Rafe handed her one of the paper menus that had been placed by the window at the table. "Yeah, I have, but I didn't respond. A rough storm hit the Outer Banks last night," he informed nonchalantly.

Poetry reached for her phone, deciding to at least check on her family. Rafe leaned across the table, gently grabbing hold of her hand. "Don't," he said softly. Poetry's brows furrowed. "I should at least make sure they're okay-"

"Not yet. Just, wait until everything settles; then, we can talk to whoever we want to."

"Controlling who your girl speaks to? Not a cool move, man," the girl from earlier commented once she approached the table, overhearing their conversation. "Well, Ember," Rafe began, his eyes trailing down to her crooked name tag. "Eavesdropping isn't cool either, and I'm not controlling; I'm rationalizing."

"I don't need to hear your personal affairs, I only need to hear your order," Ember said, rolling her eyes as she grabbed her notepad. Poetry and Rafe placed their orders, Poetry being much more polite and respectful than the latter.